Winter's Thaw
by BWReader
Summary: Fixing a soldier's mind can sometimes mean finding a man's heart. For the young doctor that is selected to remove the mental programming of the Winter Soldier, her work is cut out for her. Will she succeed in her task, or will winter return to Bucky Barnes? POST Civil War (M for possible later chapters, just in case)
1. Chapter 1

*No ownership of Marvel characters, places, material. Only original character is mine.*

The clinic had been closed for several hours now; the only ones who remained were the nighttime janitor and a final doctor. She was sitting in her office that she shared with two others, bent over the final chart in an ever-increasing stack. A few final notations… and she was done. Leaning back, she rubbed her back and let out a sigh of relief. She was almost always the last one at the clinic most nights. She often offered to cover other doctors' shifts when she had the spare time. She even volunteered on days off. Some would say she practically lived at the clinic.

The truth was, she loved the fact that what she did helped people. Oh, and the fact that her apartment was essentially empty, she had no social life, lived alone, and nowhere near family, helped inform her decisions on her heavy work schedule.

So it was not unusual to return to her small apartment very late. What _was_ unusual was that after her put her keys on the counter and turned on a lamp a dark figure loomed out of the darkness. She was not easily startled, but this occurrence made her gasp.

She was about to turn and grab her phone and run out the door when a voice emerged from the figure. "Good evening, Ms. Westin. I expected your arrival earlier." A cool, accented voice said as the shadowy figure came forward into the light to reveal a black woman in business attire.

"Who are you?"

"My apologies for the intrusion, but my employer insisted that I contact you as soon as possible. My name is Naya. Please, be at ease Ms. Westin, I mean you no harm."

She relaxed somewhat and came closer to this mysterious woman. "Margery is fine. Who is your employer?"

Naya smiled and inclined her head. "Very well, Margery. I represent an individual who has need of you particular medical skills. He would like to offer you a job, effectively immediately. You would be well-paid and housed as part of the contract. I have a plane ticket for tomorrow morning for you." She explained.

"Yes, but what is the job… and who do you work for, again?"

"All particulars of the assignment and employment will be discussed upon your arrival. If you choose not to take the job you will still be paid for your trouble and returned home."

Margery got the distinct impression that the more questions she asked the less answers this polite woman would give. "Where would I be going?"

"You would be a guest of the Wakandan government." At this she removed from her coat pocket and showed her passport issued from the reclusive Wakanda and some sort of government i.d. badge. "This is of the utmost importance and I assure you that you will be safe," she hesitated a beat before continuing. "And as a medical professional, I will say that this is an opportunity that you will wish to take."

"How long do I have to think about it?"

She handed over a plane ticket. "The flight departs at 11:15 in the morning. We look forward to seeing you in Wakanda, Ms. Westin."

She bowed her head again and left Margery standing with a plane ticket in her hand a decision to make.

 _XXXXX_

 _This is insane. I've lost my mind._ Margery thought as she listened to the flight attendant's safety speech. She was sitting in a first class cabin. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she had hastily packed a small suitcase and called the clinic that morning to tell them she would be taking some time off. They were ecstatic that she was getting out, the receptionist she had spoken to was extra chatty and expressed her concern that she was going to work herself to death there (an opinion she assured Margery was widely held). They would fill her hours with some bright new doctors that needed the experience hours. There was no one else to call really, no pets or houseplants to have watched.

In a last minute thought she had written a hasty note that read: _Going for a job interview in Wakanda. If I don't return or send word, something happened. Inform the authorities._ Concluded with the date of departure for reference. This trip was close to insanity, so a small precaution was warranted.

The initial flight and connecting ones went smoothly. When she arrived in Nairobi, Kenya, there was a small private plane that waited to take her the rest of the way to Wakanda.

Looking out the window, she saw that the landscape of Wakanda was varied and beautiful: grassland, lowlands, jungles, and mountains. The small airstrip they landed on was out of the way and rural, but private and very well maintained with a state of the art hanger for the plane. A car took her on the short road from the airstrip to a large building nestled in the jungle landscape.

Naya stood just inside the doors waiting for Margery.

"I trust that your travels were smooth." She said with polite interest as she began walking.

She followed, feeling a bit naked because her suitcase and purse had been conveyed away from her to "her rooms." "Yes, it was fine. You didn't have to go through the trouble of first class though."

"On the contrary. You are our guest and we are imposing on you already. It is out duty to make your travels as comfortable as possible." She stopped in front of a door. "I assumed that you would like to speak to my employer immediately instead of going to you rooms. Was I correct?"

Margery realized that she was about to meet whoever had paid for her to come all the way on such mysterious terms. "Yes. I would like to know who it is that wants me to work for them."

"Very well." She opened the door and walked in. "May I introduce to you T'Challa, King of Wakanda."

Before her stood a striking man. He was tall and muscular in an elegant way. He was regal in his bearing, but his eyes and smile revealed an undercurrent of personable warmth.

He came forward and offered his hand. Margery delayed in shaking it for a moment because one- she was stunned that she was speaking to a King, and two- she wasn't sure if shaking hands with him was rude or not. Ultimately she did, he wouldn't have offered had he not wanted her to.

"It is very good to finally meet you Ms. Margery Westin. We have been looking for a doctor with your skills for some time." He said.

"Oh? What skills are those?" Margery inquired politely.

"We have much to discuss. Please have a seat."

XXXXX

Alone in her bedroom after her lengthy meeting with the King of Wakanda, Margery had a lot to think about. They wanted her to help rehabilitate the former assassin and friend of Captain America, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes (aka the Winter Soldier). They had confidence in her from her previous work with prisoners of war, kidnap victims, and others with deep psychological problems with neurological complications. They wanted to wake him up from his self-induced cryogenic sleep and have her remove the programming that removed his free will. Was this crazy? Could she actually do it?

She picked up the phone in the room and dialed Naya's extension. When she answered Margery simply said, "I'll do it" and hung up.

After all, she helped veterans at the clinic and found fulfillment from it so this was not so different. She had a duty to help this man, so she would do her best.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been two days since Margery had accepted the job. It had an exceptionally busy two days. There were contracts and confidentiality agreements to sign, her landlord to wire money to for payment of several months in advance (an amount that barely dented the large sum of money that she was being paid), and tours of the facility to take. The place was large, the equipment and medical facilities were state of the art, and her living arrangements were spacious and comfortable.

There were also files and charts and the like to consult. During those two days she read as much as she could about her patient. She familiarized herself with the ancient files from Hydra and the Russians as best she could, and made herself dispassionately read the things that the Winter Soldier had done and was capable of doing. There was very little in the way of information about what had been mentally and physically done to him in order to produce this assassin. She would have to work extra hard to uncover their methods before she could begin to reverse the damage.

Possibly more important than studying the Winter Soldier, Margery read what she could about the man behind him, James Buchanan Barnes. Where he had grown up, his past, his wartime exploits. Sadly, most of it was in relation to Steve Rogers. She flagged this as a possible point on which work would have to be done.

Finally, Margery looked at the medical statistics of her patient from just before and during his frozen slumber. He was physically very healthy, a small blessing. Some of the former soldiers she had worked with in similar capacities had also needed intense physical therapy and were, at times, irreversibly damaged in body. In those cases, her job became even more difficult; she had to convince the men that they were not irreversibly damaged mentally too.

The morning of the proposed "thawing" came finally. She rose early and dressed in her professional clothes; pencil skirt that came to the knees, flats, and a high-necked blouse of a soft blue color (she tried to wear soft calming colors as much as possible with patients). Looking into the mirror she surveyed her appearance. Bland. Medium height, medium build (not skinny and not overly curvaceous), large bust hidden underneath the high collar, long light brown hair pulled up into a bun, and no makeup adorning her naturally pale face. Her eyes were a dark blue and lips were plump and rosy on their own. She continued to look at herself a moment longer as doubt climbed in. _No, you CAN do this_ , she firmly told her reflection. With that, she walked towards the medical suite where her patient awaited.

XXXXX

Margery had insisted that they apply a sedative to him. She did not want him to wake up jarringly from his refrigeration unit in a lab. No, she wanted him to wake up gently, and in a bed. It would be his first taste of normalcy, and certainly not his last.

For all her research in the days before, she had never brought herself to come in and gape at him while he was frozen. It reminded her of going to a zoo. She didn't want to see him like that, she was afraid it would taint the rest of their treatment together. Instead, she let the Wakandan medical team handle the procedure and only entered the hospital-like room when they had exited it.

She walked in. The Wakandans had left two armed guards just inside the door. She frowned slightly but knew that telling them to leave was out of the question. Even she had to admit that her patient had the potential for unusually violent actions. Nevertheless, she decided to ignore their presence completely. Instead, she walked forward toward the bed where he lay.

She was struck at first by how young he was. For all that he had done, and the fact that he was born in 1917, she had expected someone older and perhaps more haggard. But no, he looked to be in his late twenties, perhaps just thirty. She herself was twenty-nine, so the fact that he appeared to be her age was a bit startling.

The second thing she noticed, that he was handsome. She had seen a picture, of course, but isn't it always the case that there is some difference there. He had long brown hair, smooth skin, and a thin layer of stubble. Sleeping, he looked peaceful and all the more handsome. She knew better than to romanticize him though. She looked at him with a polite interest, as a professional surveying what she would be working with. She knew that when he woke up, what he looked like in sleep would most likely vanish from his appearance; it often did with men like him.

So she pulled up a chair and waited. To keep from staring at him she had brought a book. Something mindless that she could put down at a moment's notice. She sat on his left side, the side without an arm.

The first signs of wakefulness emerged about an hour later. He began to breathe deeper. Then his brows contracted. And finally, he opened his eyes and registered his surroundings. At Margery's movement of closing her book and putting it on the side table, he started and shifted on the bed so he could see her better.

"Who are you? Where am I?" he said with suspicion and clarity.

Margery gave him a small, professional smile. "You are in Wakanda still. My name is Margery Westin. King T'Challa hired me to help you." She let that sink in for a beat before continuing, "Do you remember coming to Wakanda and your request for him to find someone to help you?"

"Yes." was the simple answer.

"Alright then. How are you feeling? Any nausea? Disorientation? Thirsty?" Margery continued solicitously.

He shook his head, no. "So, you're going to help get this stuff out of my head?"

"I'm going to do my best." He looked doubtful but she forged on. "I've introduced myself, but what would you prefer to be called? You seem to have collected quite a few of them."

"Bucky. You can call me Bucky."

"Bucky, it's nice to meet you. When you're ready, I would like to run some simple medical tests to make sure you transitioned without complications. Would that be fine with you?" She made sure to make no move until he had answered her to show him that this was not a rhetorical question, but one that required his acceptance.

"Sure." Another simple reply, without much emotion.

She got up and pushed the button on the bed that raised the back up. She then proceeded to get her stethoscope, blood pressure cuff, and reflex hammer out and performed the various tests to ensure his health. The entire time she explained what she was doing. He never complained or spoke the whole time.

After she had finished and declared him healthy as a horse, she smiled a genuinely warm smile. "I think that will be all that we do today. We are going to take things slow, any changes that we make I want to make sure take hold. So, I have some clothes here" she gestured to the side table "and I am going to leave you to get dressed. Afterwards, we can have something to eat and I can show you to your room."

"My room." He repeated, nonplussed.

"Yes, your room. I figured you would be more comfortable in an actual bedroom. It's in the same wing that I am in, incase you need something… Unless you prefer to stay here?" Margery explained.

"No, I think I'll take the room." He reached for the stack of clothes. "Does it come with the same ornaments?"

She looked at him a little confused. He gestured to the armed guards by the door.

"Sadly, they won't be part of the décor." She replied.

And for the first time that day, Bucky smiled and then said wryly, "What a shame."

XXXXX

The rest of the day passed calmly. Bucky barely spoke to Margery other than when was polite (he thanked her for his meal and for walking him to his room) or when was necessary (answering her in the affirmative or negative when asked simple questions). And Margery left him alone. She needed him to see her as non-threatening and as an ally, and this was how she planned to lay the groundwork for that impression.

Late in the evening she was sitting in the room that housed a couch and television as well as a large table and chairs, essentially a more business-like living room. She had walked down the hall a few times from her bedroom down to her office, each time looking toward the room at the opposite end of the hall. He had kept the door ajar and could see the light in it and hear him quietly moving around. The living room that she now occupied was between her office and his room on the other side of the hallway. She had turned on a small lamp and the television- set to some nature show.

Her bare feet tucked up under her on the couch (she had long since decided a pair of jeans were fine to wear), and watching a segment on animals of the tundra. This is how Bucky found her. He came in silently and stood to the side of the couch for a few moments, watching the television and then the couch, before he hesitantly sat on the opposite end. She reminded him of a skittish animal, not sure if she was friend or foe yet. So she didn't make a move toward him, didn't speak, and waited for him to make the first one. He waited until a commercial break before he broke the silence.

"What type of doctor are you?" he asked her without really looking.

"I'm a neuropsychologist. I work with people to help them alleviate issues between the brain and the mind, essentially."

"So, not a brain surgeon. Have you done anything like this before?"

She looked at him earnestly. "Well, they found me through my work with soldiers who had been captured by the enemy, and people who had been kidnapped, children who had been abused; people who could not control their mind's reactions to specific stimulate." He met her eyes. "So yes, I have worked with cases similar to yours. I am confident that we can work to undue what was done to your mind."

He nodded. "Where are you from?" he asked.

Margery could see that something had happened just then, she had passed some small test that made him loosen up with her somewhat. She also knew that her edict that they wouldn't do any work until tomorrow was being disregarded.

"I'm from California. You?" she countered.

"Brooklyn. Where did they drag you out from?"

"I was working at a veterans' clinic in Seattle when I was offered this job."

"Seattle, not somewhere in California. Why did you move there?"

"I went where the need was. And the distance from home was fine, not too far but not right there either."

"Get along with your family?"

"As much as anyone." She knew better than to ask about his.

"Big family?"

"One brother, older and married with two children of his own. He lives in L.A. Mom and Dad are retired in Santa Barbara."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-Nine. You?" she couldn't resist asking.

His mouth tucked up in one corner, a lopsided grin. "Old." His eyes slipped over her hands on her lap. "Isn't your family worried about this? Did you leave anyone back in Seattle to worry about you working with someone who could slip and turn into a killer at any moment?"

Margery laughed through her nose. "I don't know any Russian, so the likelihood of my triggering that side of you is very slim. And my family knows about my work in a general sense, not the specifics though. Besides, I was sworn to secrecy about this. Even if I had anyone waiting for me, I wouldn't tell them."

He was quiet for a while after that, absently watching the television.

"How are you planning to fix me?"

It was only a matter of time before he asked her that, she knew.

"Hard work. And a lot of it." She said with finality.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for reading so far guys! I started writing this on a lark, but I hope that you like it...

*No ownership of Marvel characters, places, material. Only original character is mine.* (P.S- Not a doctor.)

The next morning Margery explained to Bucky what was entailed in this "hard work." She would do brain mapping; show him pictures and capture what each one showed in his brain. She would ask him questions about his time as the Winter Soldier. She would ask him questions, as would a psychologist. These types of activities would be phase one of treatment. The second was correcting the damaged or altered pathways of the brain and mind that she found in the first.

That first day saw them sitting together in front of a monitor with her clicking a button to display new pictures. He was wearing an absurd amount of electrodes stuck to his head in addition to a heart rate monitor clipped to a finger. They sat for hours like this. Broke for lunch. Sat for a few more.

When she finally pronounced that they were done for the day he was obviously confused.

"That was it?" he asked.

"Yes. I know, very boring. It will be several days of this. And then I will take several days to review what you brain was telling me. And then we will do some more boring stuff." She laughed. Her patients often told her that they expected something more eventful, and she agreed that though it would be more dramatic, the results would speak for themselves.

And that was how their days progressed. During the day they would do the boring stuff. In the evenings though, they were more relaxed with one another. They would often watch a movie or television together. She would make popcorn or something to eat and he would provide "old-man commentary" at appropriate intervals.

"What is this? This isn't reality!" he would exclaim when they would come across a mind-numbing reality program.

Or, when watching an action movie he would comment on how such-and-such was unrealistic or clearly a prop. On one memorable night he declared that the movie that they had watched was terrible and most likely rotted the brain, ending with, "And I should know."

Or on the rare times they found a news program that was not in Wakandan, he would exclaim at the type of stories they covered. "That's news?! That was about a cat being made mayor for a day!"

Such commentary made Margery laugh and Bucky would too, once his minor outrage at the contemporary world was over.

"Didn't you watch television at all when you were out in the world?" she asked him one night.

"Never when I was on an assignment. It wasn't important." He replied quietly. Then brightened when he continued, "And when I was on the run? I couldn't afford cable."

They had laughed together at that.

Sometimes they would play games. For the most part this consisted of Scrabble or cards, since it was hard to find many two-person games. Margery soon found that Bucky was fiercely intelligent and managed to beat her at almost everything. She was fairly certain that the times that she did manage to win, he had let her.

They were both finding that they enjoyed spending time with one another in the evenings.

XXXXX

The scans from Bucky's mapping came back and she would spend hours pouring over the data and images. She felt confident in how she wanted to proceed. She began to question him.

"Once you were activated, were you aware of your actions and surroundings? Or were you in fugue state?" She began one morning.

He was standing and looking out a window. "I knew." He responded quietly.

"And you retained memory of the actions, despite not being in control of them?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel remorse, or anger, or sadness when you remember?"

"Why would that matter?" he responded, irritated. "I remember each thing I did, and I feel ashamed of it all."

"It matters because if you felt nothing at all, the work would be infinitely more difficult. But that you feel, have true emotions attached to the memories, means that your mind, the one that they tried desperately to erase, is closer to the surface than you might think."

For two days she carried on like this. She poked at the trigger areas that the brain mapping had revealed. He was guarded and prickly during this time. His responses short and pained. He didn't come out and socialize with her those evenings.

On the third day she asked him about Steve. That did not go well. She was asking him painful questions, ones that led him to painful answers. He eventually burst.

"What do you want me to say?! That I am angry with Steve? He's my best friend!" he yelled at her.

"And best friends are supposed to stick together." Was her calm response.

"We have!"

"Eventually, yes. But before that? Before he took you here?"

"We were enemies, because of what I was."

"And before that, in the War?" she continued.

"What do you mean? Steve and I always had each other's back. He saved me when I, and the other men, would have been written off by our superiors."

Margery looked at him knowingly. "And experimented on?"

"Yes! He…he saved" he faltered. He had come upon what she was leading him towards. "He didn't save me every time. Steve didn't save me. He left me to die! He left me to become this- _thing_!" he was angry now. "But he couldn't have known!"

"No, he couldn't have known. But he left you all the same. And it is important to know that this, despite what you rationally know to be true, is a source of anger to you." She explained.

"This doesn't matter. None of this matters. It's not helping, I'm not any different. You should have just left me frozen." And with that declaration he stormed out and overturned a chair and small equipment table from the lab. The guards made as if to stop him but Margery signaled for them to leave him. He would cool off.

That night, when she couldn't sleep, she left her room to get a glass of water. Walking down the hall, she saw that the light was on in his room. She stood outside of it, listening. She heard the sounds of soft, restrained weeping.

She knocked. When there was no answer or move to open or quiet the sounds within, she entered on her own.

There Bucky sat on the floor, his back to the side of the unmade bed. Margery knelt down in front of him.

"This is ridiculous. I shouldn't be doing this." He mumbled halfheartedly.

She wasn't sure if he meant that he shouldn't be sitting on the ground crying in the middle of the night, or unfrozen and attempting to fix his mind.

"Bucky? Do you know why every time they woke you up for an assignment they had to use a machine to apply electrical currents into you brain? Why the programming and trigger words were not enough to get you to comply with their wishes? Why they had to torture you into a compliant state?" he looked up at her at this but she didn't wait for an answer. "It's because every time that you were asleep, your brain set about healing itself. Even if you were awake for too long, it healed itself and you would be subjected to that device. Even now, if I look at a scan of your brain from right before you put yourself into cryo-sleep and now, there are vast differences."

"What?"

"Probably because of the serum that enhanced the rest of your body, but the human mind is a mysterious thing. Both more fragile and stronger that we can imagine." She took his one hand. "So, when I say that you are making improvements, believe me that you are." She squeezed his hand. "Now- it's time we both got to sleep."

She stood up and he followed suit. She gestured to the bed and he had to smile despite of himself at how he was being put to bed at his age. He climbed in and she turned off the lamp.

On a spur of the moment impulse, Bucky asked quietly, "Stay?"

And despite her better professional judgment, Margery replied, "OK."

He scooted over and she climbed in after him. They lay there awkwardly in the dark for a moment before Bucky reached out with his hand and held hers again. Then, they both slept.


	4. Chapter 4

*No ownership of Marvel characters, places, material. Only original character is mine.*

Bucky woke first. He felt a firm pressure on his chest. Instead of alarming him, as this sensation would have before now, he was oddly comforted by it. He looked down and saw that Margery was still fast asleep, pressed firmly against his right side with an arm thrown carelessly across his torso and one leg entwined with his. His own arm was wrapped securely around her body, ensuring that her body was even closer to his.

Though the sensation was comforting, he was also aware of the proximity on a different level. He had not been this near to a woman in a very long time (not counting the women he had fought with, of course). Even during his brief years in hiding from the world he had stayed away from people as much as he could, forming no lasting relationships, let alone with women. And even before he had been made into a weapon, well… times were different.

Yet, here was a woman that was pressed against him. He was suddenly aware that her normal choices in clothing concealed something significant from his view during their wakeful hours. Warm and full against the side of his chest were her breasts, much bigger than he had realized and for the first time not contained within a high collared shirt. Her hair was down as well, and never before had he wanted the use of his other arm as much as he did then, such was his desire to put his fingers through the soft waves. She shifted in her sleep, her arm repositioning on his stomach and her body moving gently against his side. It was too much; he lay back on his pillow and concentrated on the ceiling.

 _God, she smells good._ His rebellious mind supplied, despite his resolution to not respond to the body next to him. _She's my doctor. Don't do anything stupid._ His rational mind countered.

His body did not receive the memo apparently. He could feel his heart beat that much faster, his palm on her back became very hot suddenly, and his stomach muscles began to tighten. He could feel his body respond in a primal way to the nearness of her and he knew he had to move before she woke up and was embarrassed by their position and his arousal.

He moved carefully out from under her arm and dislodged his own. He watched as she shifted again to her back. He couldn't help but stare a moment as her nightshirt gathered in a way to reveal even more of her breasts and her stomach this time. Quick as possible he retreated to his bathroom and took a shower. A cold one.

XXXXX

Margery woke up and stretched. She had not slept this well in ages. This was not her bed though. She looked around the unfamiliar room and to the empty spot to her left. It was large and human shaped. Her mind was working hard to grasp the meaning of this. Then she remembered last night. Her hand flew up and hit her forehead.

She heard water running from the bathroom. She did a quick mental check of her body and confirmed that nothing had happened. _I'm such an idiot!_ She berated herself. Crawling into bed with a patient, no matter if nothing sexual had happened was simply wrong on so many levels. The water shut off in the other room and she jumped from bed and fled the room in a heartbeat. If anyone had been watching, they would have sworn that she was the one with super soldier serum in her body, she moved that fast. She didn't want to be caught lounging in his bed still. She went to her own room and sat on her unused bed. She could still smell him on her clothes, a comforting manly smell.

She went to shower and get ready for the day. She would play last night off as well as she could. Despite her declarations of professionalism though, when she exited the bathroom and picked up her nightshirt and shorts, she did not put them in the laundry hamper. Instead, she placed them back in a drawer to be used another night.

XXXXX

The potential awkwardness of the encounter was surprisingly easy to get past. They entered their lab workspace and looked sheepishly at each other for a few minutes. It was Bucky who broke the awkward silence.

"At least you don't snore." And then he laughed.

Just like that, they knew where they stood again. The previous night was a moment of weakness between two humans. They could start their work again today without any tension.

And that was just what they did. Bucky had a renewed vigor and pursued all the questions and tests doggedly.

Margery thought that her revelation the night before had renewed the hope in him that he could rid himself of the fear of his own mind.

Bucky indeed, had renewed hope. But there was another reason he went after the goal once more. He would never admit it with any certainty to himself, let alone out loud; if he were cured, Margery would no longer be his doctor. It was that small glimmer of hope in seeing her like he did that morning again that motivated him.

XXXXX

Bucky was attempting to eat dinner one evening. Attempting, because every time he leaned down to take a sip of his soup, his long hair would fall into his face. He would then need to throw his head back and tilt it to the side in order to finish his spoon's circuit from the bowl to his mouth. It was a rather absurd thing to watch a man as large and as deadly as Bucky do.

Eventually Margery took pity on him. She leaned on her elbow, face propped up with her fist. She studied his hair and his face.

"You know," she began. "I think you could definitely pull off a man-bun."

He stared at her. "What?" he asked, looking utterly confused.

"Man-bun. You know, what men of the 21st century with long hair do. They put it up in a fashionable little bun on top of their heads." She fished a hair tie from her pocket and offered it to him. "Here, use this."

He took it gingerly in his right hand and began to clumsily pull at his hair. He attempted to put all of it at once within the grasp of the elastic band and pulled savagely at it. All to no end. Margery realized belatedly that the particular style that she had suggested needed two functional hands to create it.

She stood up and gently took the band from his hand. Standing behind him, she hesitated briefly. Then, she ran her fingers through his hair, pulling up the offending wild front portions, while leaving the back. She looped the elastic band around the portion of hair that she had collected and created a perfectly acceptable, slightly messy, bun. She smiled to herself as she rested her hands lightly on his shoulders and gave a small sigh.

He had gone rigid under her touch at first, unaccustomed as he was to non-violent physical contact. She had noticed the change of course, it was expected from a man like him. What she was not privy to was the fact that as she ran her hands through his hair, Bucky closed his eyes and smiled in a small and contented fashion. He inhaled deeply and exhaled at the same time she rested her hands on him. He could feel the small breeze that her sigh created on the back of his neck.

It was such a small gesture, but meaningful nonetheless. She felt happy that Bucky had let her that close to him and surrendered to her careful hands. He was happy that a woman like Margery felt safe enough with him to be so near to him without fear.

"I can't wait until I get my new arm. Otherwise, you'll be stuck doing my hair everyday." Bucky remarked.

She laughed a bit as she sat down to dinner once more. "Perhaps when you get it you'll do my hair instead."


	5. Chapter 5

*No ownership of Marvel characters, places, material. Only original character is mine.* Ps-Sorry for the delay between the last chapter and this.

The new arm was similar to the last one. The doctors and engineers of the Wakandan facility had consulted with him about it between his sessions with Margery. He had the option of any type of replacement for the arm that Tony Stark had taken from him. He could have had a prosthetic arm that looked and felt like his flesh one, could have had any combination of materials. Yet, he had wanted one like the one before. Despite being the arm that his abusers had fitted him with, he wanted it back nonetheless. It was terribly useful, and in any case- it just felt right to be with that arm again. Margery had said that it would be a good choice; something along the lines of mastery of something that was once his master would benefit his mental rehabilitation. She often had little gems of wisdom like that to explain or justify his actions, both present and past.

The most amazing part was that T'Challa had approved the use of Vibranium for the bionic arm and it was now ready. In order to fit it to his shoulder the medical team had sedated Bucky. Coming out of the sedation after the procedure, he was greeted by the smile of Margery. Then a bevy of doctors had inserted themselves to test that the arm was functional. Eventually, he was declared fit and everyone but Margery left.

She tossed his clothes at him. "Get dressed. We're celebrating."

He did as he was told. She had brought him a new pair of slacks and a t-shirt with short sleeves. There were shoes and a light jacket too. These were not the usual inside-the-facility clothes.

She met him outside his room and they walked to the front door of the facility where a car waited for them. He paused; he had not left the building before.

She was getting into the back seat. "Come on!"

He followed her in.

"Where are we going?" he asked her.

"There's a town a few miles away. We're going down there to be tourists."

She was lighthearted and he couldn't help but respond.

"I'm from New York, I'm supposed to hate tourists." He joked.

"Too bad."

They got out of the car and walked into what must be the market center. It was late afternoon. Together they walked down a street and looked around at the various vendors. People looked at them too. At first, it made Bucky edgy and uncomfortable. The assassin in him knew to be wary of those who noticed him. Then he noticed that they stared openly at Margery too. They were not staring because they recognized him and were wondering how to run from him or turn him in. No, they stared because they were strangers. White strangers. He relaxed slightly because he knew that they would have stared at anyone just the same.

Bucky watched her as she stopped at a fruit vendor. A child ran by laughing, catching his eye so that when he turned back, Margery was walking towards him with something in her hands. She took a bite of the fruit and the ripeness of it showed itself as a rivulet of juice slid from her lips and down her chin. Carelessly, she wiped it away with the hand that held the fruit and offered him its pair with the other hand. It was large, ripe, dark plum. He took it in his hand and laughed as he took a bite.

"What?" she asked him.

"It's funny. The last one of these that I bought, I never got around to eating it."

She furrowed her brows in a silent question.

"Steve broke into my apartment and we had to fight out way out. I lost the fruit somewhere in that mess." He explained.

"Oh dear. Does all your shopping end in a fight? Or just for plums? Am I about to be attacked by the Hulk?" She asked with a straight face.

He burst out laughing and they walked on and ate their plums.

As the sun began to set they made their way back up the street. They stopped in the broad square where there were musicians playing and dancers enjoying the tune. Margery stopped and watched them dance and was entranced. She loved dancing but never got the chance to do so. So when Bucky turned to her and gave her a debonair smile and mock bow she was thrilled.

He offered her both hands and said, "Now that I've got two of them, care to dance with me?"

"Yes, please." She said as she took hold of them.

Bucky's dancing experience was really all before the 1950's, so they were a bit of a sight. The music had an African rhythm but he spun them around in swing dance fashion. She was not certain of the steps and after a while collapsed into him, arms around his neck.

"No more! Let me catch my breath." She panted out.

The tempo of the song changed to something much slower and he took her right hand from around his neck and into his newly minted left hand. His right arm snaked around her hips to rest snugly at the small of her back. And together they swayed, Margery still leaning against his chest.

She leaned back once her breath had returned and looked up into his face. He smiled at her and she lost the breath she had just caught. She was looking into the face of a very handsome man whose hand was firmly pressing them together, and whose eyes were focused solely on her. She was not seeing him as the man that was her patient; this was not the man that she expected to find. _Not appropriate_. She tried to command her body, but it seemed to not care. She could feel her heart beat faster and a blush creep into her cheeks. _He's close enough to…_ she began to think. Had she been in a rational state of mind she would have noticed that he too had that same thought written across his face.

And then their car pulled up and honked for them. Whatever spell had been cast over then while dancing was gone. They detached and walked over to the car, both much redder than they had been before the dance.


	6. Chapter 6

*No ownership of Marvel characters, places, material. Only original character is mine.*

In the next few days Margery was going to begin redirecting pathways made by her predecessors in his mind. She would show him an image that had triggered a response during the brain mapping for aggression, hate, fear, or compliance when that was not a normal response. With that image she would pair one that did provoke a normal response. She hoped that this would gently guide his brain back into the pathways it should be taking rather than the ones that Hydra produced in him.

It was the second to last stage; the final being auditory trigger words. Hopefully if she did her job correctly and thoroughly, the trigger words would be a minor adjustment.

This was the plan at least, but Margery was distracted. The night they had returned from the town, she slept restlessly. The next day, which she declared would be one of rest for Bucky's treatment, found her sitting in her office checking over data. Yet, as she stared at images and charts, her mind would suddenly wander off inappropriately. She would think of such odd things. The blue colors that showed in a picture of Bucky's brain would trigger thoughts of his blue eyes. An image of a sunny beach would make her think about how warm she had felt in Bucky's arms the previous night. Other such thoughts entered and receded in her brain the entire day, like waves on a beach and just as constant.

She liked Bucky. She genuinely wanted to help him. She wanted to be his friend. She also couldn't deny the idea that was forming more steadily with each passing hour and day: she liked Bucky and wanted to be more than his friend. She knew she was in such trouble with him.

Eventually she had to abandon any hope of getting meaningful work done. Bucky, she supposed, had occupied himself the entire day and was in his own room when she exited her office. She went to her room. It was high time to call her mother, realizing that she had only sent her an email at the onset of this experience explaining she was out of the country and not going to be easily reached. She hadn't spoken to her for the entire time she was here and another two weeks before that. She checked the time difference, late at night here and mid-morning in California.

XXXXX

Bucky had indeed, occupied himself throughout the day. Since he now had two functional arms, he decided that a trip to the gym was long overdue. He wanted some time to think and blow off steam. When he walked into the facility though, the last person he expected was already there. T'Challa stood on one of the rooms large padded mats, dressed for exercise like he was, and wrapping his hands. Bucky hadn't even known that the king was in the building, let alone standing in the gym with his back to the door.

"I wanted to make sure that your arm was put on correctly." He said, with his back still turned. He looked over his shoulder and with a look that on anyone else would have been haughty, but on him it was kingly, and said, "How about we see if it still works like it did?"

Bucky knew a friendly challenge when he saw one. This was not quite that. T'Challa and him had brokered a peace with one another, they each respected the other, but Bucky also knew that the proud man still did not fully trust him. He walked over to the mat and nodded.

"Sure."

They began. It was a slow spar at first, each testing the other out, throwing a punch here and deflecting one there.

"You have been busy, I can see the progress that you've made." The king commented as he lunged quickly in and out.

Bucky, circling him and looking for an opening, responded, "It's all Margery's doing. I couldn't do it without her." He struck at an unprotected side but his opponent countered it at the last moment.

"Yes, Dr. Westin is particularly talented in her field. We are lucky to have found her, and even luckier that she is a civilian."

Bucky didn't miss the pointed use of Margery's title and last name, nor the insinuation with the civilian comment.

"You can't think that she's a danger. She's a civilian, meaning that she has no military ties to any nation and won't be in violation of any oaths. I hope you are not suggesting that she would be tempted to inform on us because of that fact." He said it pleasantly, but his hits gained strength.

"Of course not." T'Challa's own punches came back at him with a matching force. "It is not her that I think is a danger. But, she is a civilian and that means she does not see the danger in some things that you or I would."

"So, you came to make sure that nothing happened when we left last night, not just for the surgery." Bucky deduced. He was distinctly uneasy now as they continued to fight.

"Yes. I was watching. I did not want anything unpleasant to arise."

"Watching?" Bucky bit out. He wasn't surprised of course; it was the logical thing to do. But he was also angry. Angry at not being trusted. Angry at being followed and spied on. Angry, because a moment that he had thought was private had surely been observed by the man before him. He poured his anger into his attacks and they picked up speed and velocity.

"Yes, watching. I observed many things. For instance, that you had made progress because you were so much less on edge than how you were when we first met." He and Bucky clashed together at this and they were briefly body-to-body. "And another thing, that you are fond of your doctor."

They pushed away from each other and Bucky stumbled a bit as he reached his starting position once more.

"Of course I'm fond of her, for what she's doing." Bucky deflected the insinuation like he deflected a hit.

"A man who is merely fond of someone for services rendered does not look at a woman as you did last night." He was breathing more heavily now but still he persisted in his assault against Bucky, on two fronts now. "Come, admit it. You are falling for your pretty, talented doctor."

Bucky, who had just a moment ago been so hot with anger, ran cold suddenly. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to beat the king to show his strength. He wanted to keep this small, precious, secret thing to himself; he did not want to share his feelings with this man, not when the object of them knew nothing. He was cold with fear because for a brief second all he could think was, _He'll send her away_.

The fight lagged at the last comment. T'Challa faltered in response to Bucky's pause.

More gently, he persisted, "No, not _falling_ , fall _en_."

Bucky neglected to answer. He had stopped moving and the fight altogether.

"It's not just that you are grateful to her? That you confuse admiration or lust with love?" He asked.

He looked sharply at T'Challa at that last comment. "I may not have complete control of my mind, but I do know what I am feeling. I am not a man without emotions any longer." He hesitated, not sure if he should continue his confession. "There's nothing to worry about though. She's not in any danger from me, or my feelings. She wouldn't… be tempted by me, even if she felt anything."

The king contemplated this comment briefly. He walked closer to Bucky, the sparring match obviously concluded. "The doctor, from all the references that we collected, acts with nothing but professionalism." He conceded. "But, I would not be so hopeless, if I were you. You forget, I was watching last night. You are not the only one with love in his gaze." He patted his partner on the back and departed with a brief farewell.

Bucky was left standing in the same spot. He did not want to let his mind contemplate the possibility. He was hopelessly gone for her, but he didn't really entertain the notion that the feeling could be reciprocated. Yes, Margery was professional and took pains to be so. But did that have to mean that there were no feelings behind that professionalism? After all, as he could attest to himself, emotions were wild things that could not be tamed when it came to matters of love. There was the possibility that despite her duty and professionalism, she could harbor feelings too. And an honest man had just confirmed that something might be there.

He was in a daze the rest of the day. He wandered, he ate, and he watched television without interest. Instead, he both tried to and tried to not think about his feelings, Margery, and her feelings, whatever those might be. He was in such a daze that he didn't notice that he had returned to his room and was staring at the ceiling from his position on the bed, until the closing of the door down the hall caught his attention at last. The sound of murmured conversation roused him further, and before he knew what he was doing, he had left his room and crept down the hall to stand in front of her door.


	7. Chapter 7

*No ownership of Marvel characters, places, material. Only original character is mine.*

The conversation on the other side of the door was muffled somewhat through the door, but Bucky's hearing picked it up perfectly. He knew he was in the wrong, eavesdropping, but he continued anyway. Margery was on the phone so he could only get half of the conversation taking place, though.

"Yeah mom. I know you've been worried and I'm sorry…. I know you hate secrets. But they make us sign confidentiality agreements… You know how people get when there's proprietary stuff involved- they get secretive and paranoid. You're lucky I get to call you at all." She was explaining to her mother on the phone.

There was a pause. Then, "I'm calling now. How's dad?" she listened for the response. "I'm sure he's loving that the doctors told him he needs to cut down on the red meat… yeah… well, tell him I miss him and love him when he gets back from golf today."

She sighed heavily. "Mom, this is a job, not a singles retreat. I'm not here to meet men."

Bucky was intensely interested now. There was a pause and a noise of hesitation on Margery's end. "When you say 'met someone' mom, you mean prince charming and roses, not reality. But… well, ok! I suppose you could say I've, had my head turned." She gave a small half laugh. "Oh, I don't know. He's, well he's different. And not like the Seattle hipster type of different that I'm used to." She waited for her mother's comment on the other end of the line and then continued, not knowing that she had an audience that was holding his breath. "You know I've been single for a long while now… Yes, well that's because work _does_ come first for me! Anyway, my singleness never bothered me before. But now, when I'm with him, well I feel both very aware and bothered by my single statehood but also, I feel, content." She stopped and then rushed on. "And, I can't really talk about him more than that… Thank goodness for confidentiality agreements!... No, I'm not joking. I really cannot tell you anything about what I'm doing here or whom I'm with. And I _really_ can't think romance until I've finished here."

There was a shocked gasp. "Mom!" she exclaimed. "No!... Yes, we have the Internet here, but that's not the problem with what you just said. It's the fact that my mother just told me to 'Netflix and chill and then jump him'. It's gross, you're gross… I doubt that he would even know what that was- honestly, I'm shocked you even know." And then she laughed. "Oh yes, indeed! 'Things can happen without you planning it'" she said, mocking what must have just been told to her. "How is my dear brother, Bill, speaking of that?"

The conversation turned to matters tamer at that point, and Bucky backed back down the hallway to his room. He had a smile on his face and something to look up on the Internet.

XXXXX

Margery couldn't help but feel better for talking to her mother. She had admitted to her that she did have feelings for Bucky. Somehow, that simple fact made it easier to move forward. It was like she was stuck and did not know why, but now that the cause was discovered, navigation became easier. She would do her job, she would fix the damage done to him, and then… Then she would be free to think about "then."

She rose early, dressed, and went to her office to gather her research for that day. She planned to start today.

She was sitting in their lab suite when Bucky walked in. She looked at him and said good morning, but then had to do a double take. He looked like hadn't slept a wink that night. But, oddly enough, his hair was tied back and his clothes neat and orderly, and he had a determined set to his face. He smiled at her and took a seat near her.

"Ready to go, doc." He said.

She proceeded to attach the electrodes to his head then. She had to get close to him to do so, and found that this was now an experience that thrilled her. His eyes caught hers as she continued her placements and he shifted in his seat a bit. The small movement brought their legs together. She could have sworn that it was deliberate, but the movement was such an innocent one that she couldn't be certain.

"Alright, Bucky. This is going to be like the first few days of brain mapping. I am going to show you a series of picture pairs, one after the other. With luck, this process will redirect your mind. When it was first done to you, pain was used to create the pathways that led to your mind control. This won't hurt though." She smiled ruefully. "To be honest, you might have a headache or two."

He smiled at her and looked away towards the screen. She began the sequence and let it run. It would be run several times over the next few days, conditioning the brain to the changes. As he sat and watched the screen, she sat and watched him.

XXXXX

"Margery." Bucky said on one night as they sat on the couch together. "That's an old-fashioned name. I mean, it's sound normal to me- I knew a few Margery's when I was growing up. But that kind of proves the point." He laughed at that. "Why'd you're parents go with that name? And your brother is Bill, another old name."

He had hit at a sore spot. Her mouth twisted to the side and she gave him a pained expression. "It is such an old person name. I was named after my great-grandmother." Her hand whisked out in a dramatic movement. "You have no idea how hard it was on the playground. And the only nickname anyone ever wanted to call me was 'Marge'!" she exclaimed.

"I like the name. We used to call the girl down the street 'Madge' though."

"You're a fine one to comment on old-fashioned names! 'Buchanan', nobody names kids that anymore." She playfully kicked at him.

He caught her foot. "You can see why I went with 'Bucky' now." And then he gave the captured foot a tickle.

This caused Margery to convulse and fly into giggles. Finding this amusing as any man would, he attacked her feet mercilessly. Eventually, to escape the madman, she slid herself off the couch and out of his reach. Popping onto her feet she made a move to run, but he was there in her path. She knew better than to try to run from someone who was essentially super-human, but she made a break for it down the hall to her room. He caught up to her easily, and pinned her between both arms as she reached her door.

They were breathless with laughter. Margery hadn't felt this young and carefree since before med school. And then she wasn't laughing anymore. She was nervous and flustered and feeling for the doorknob behind her. He could have stopped her if he wanted to, but she was allowed to turn the knob and slide into her room. She closed the door behind her. She could hear him shift outside it and opened it a crack to see him leaning on the frame.

"Coward." He teased.

"I'm not too proud to admit it. Goodnight, Bucky." She said. And then, narrowing her eyes a bit, added, "This is an official cease-fire. You'll be court marshaled if you break it." And then shut the door firmly once more.

She could hear him chuckle and move away.

XXXXX

He remained in a good mood throughout the days of the reprogramming treatment, less brooding. It was going well, too. At the end of each day, Margery would look at the readings from that day's sessions. Each time the sequence was finished, the patterns that were made in his brain changed more from abnormal to normal. Soon, she would be able to test the final part of the treatment.

She was going to have to study some Russian if she was going to test the auditory triggers. Even more daunting than that though, she was going to have to tell Bucky what the next step was, and she knew he would be against it.


	8. Chapter 8

*No ownership of Marvel characters, places, material. Only original character is mine.*

"No." Was his simple answer when Margery broached the subject of using his activation words.

She had a file on her desk before her. Sitting on top of that file, seemingly innocent, was a red journal. T'Challa had taken the thing with him when Steve and Bucky had escaped Siberia. Now, it was sitting between Bucky and Margery.

She rested her hand on top of it. "This is what you've been working towards. You can't let this thing control you anymore." She said gently but firmly to him.

Bucky looked like he wanted to recoil even farther away from that little red book. He hated it with every fiber of his being. He knew what the words in it could do to him, and he didn't want to return to being the Winter Soldier, mindless and deadly.

"No." he repeated.

His brooding face had returned and he his mouth had a stubborn set to it. He would not let Margery read those words.

"Bucky," she began, like a mother explaining something to a child, "You have made such improvement already. This is the next logical step. And if we have done the work we needed to, which we have, then the words shouldn't have an effect on you." She paused and moved her head so that she could catch his eye. "Don't you want that? Don't you want to be done with treatment and free?"

He had to find a logical argument for her. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands, and looked at her intently. "And what if I do react? What happens if I become him again? Those words are the only thing that controls me in that state. The orders were always in Russian. Do you know Russian?" He demanded. "Could you control me if the worst happens?"

She knew he had a point on that but was also certain that the words wouldn't affect him as they once had. "You _are_ ready for this. This book cannot control you anymore, so don't let you fear!"

He stood abruptly. "Why can't we leave this alone? Why can't we just keep going like we have?" He asked her, though he knew what it sounded like. He was grasping at reasons to not go through with it.

She was frustrated with him now. "Because, this is why I am here James Barnes! If we don't finish this, if we don't go all the way, then I will go home and know I've failed." She was practically shouting, if not actually shouting by this time.

"You will be going home anyway. You have a life after this, I don't. So, sooner or later, you will leave and go back to it. It doesn't matter if you fail or not, I will just go back under again."

She felt as if she had been slapped. He walked out at that, leaving her with her flaming cheeks and guilt. Of course he would feel like that. They had never talked about what would come afterward. It was a given that she would leave, but was it a given that he couldn't? She had somehow naively assumed that they would always be like this, like a in a dream, but that wasn't the reality of the situation. She had refused to see that he didn't know what was going to happen to him past her treatments. She hadn't realized that he didn't have any plans for his future. She had assumed that he was doing this so that he could do something grand and important, something with the Avengers or such. She was wrong. She was ashamed.

XXXXX

Bucky was on the roof when she found him again. They had stayed away from one another for the day. Now, in the early nighttime, their tempers had cooled. He was sitting on the edge of the roof, his legs dangling over the open edge. Looking out into the jungle landscape, he heard her approach.

Margery stood next to him for a brief moment before clambering onto the ledge next to him. He reached out to steady her as she settled, dangling her own feet from the ledge like him. They were sitting side-by-side, close enough that their shoulders and thighs were pressed together.

"I'm sorry." She said quietly.

"Me too." He responded.

They sat in a comfortable silence.

Then, out of the blue, Margery said something that surprised them both. "You could come home with me, after…if you want."

He tucked his chin and smiled at the thought. "That would be nice, but I don't belong there."

She looked over at him, the hurt showing at the corners of her eyes.

"I don't belong anywhere anymore. I'm a relic. I should be about a hundred years old, but I'm not." He let out a miserable little laugh. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"You don't see the position you're in like I see it. You look at yourself and you feel stuck. I see you, and know that you are free for the first time." She responded to his dark mood with sweet optimism.

"How do you figure that?"

"You get to choose what you want. You get to choose because you are brand new."

He frowned at that. "I'm not though…" He was about to continue but lost the thought when his eyes met hers, they were shining, over bright, like there were tears in them.

"You're not old, Bucky, you're young. And you get to choose. For the first time you aren't Sargent Barnes, you aren't the Winter Soldier, you aren't a faceless fugitive, you aren't "Steve Rogers' best friend who died in the war," and you aren't controlled by anyone any longer." She reached out for his hand. "Make a choice. One that only belongs to the you of today. What do you want? What does the Bucky that you are _right now_ want? What…"

Bucky suddenly knew what she meant. Knew that he was his own man for the first time since he enlisted so many years ago. Bucky suddenly and completely knew what he wanted at that moment.

Margery was stopped in her questioning by Bucky's mouth being pressed against her own. His metal hand went to the back of her head, into her hair, and pulled her closer. His kiss was feverish and frantic, like a drowning man getting hold of the lifeboat. He kissed her like that for several seconds. And then, breathless, pulled back just enough to see her face clearly.

She was smiling. He took this as a good sign and leaned in towards her once more. This time, his kiss was much more gentle. He caressed her lips, willing every ounce of his feelings for her into the act. Before he could register what was happening, he wasn't just kissing Margery; he was being kissed in return. One of her hands went to his chest and the other wrapped itself around his neck, holding them snug together. His own free hand slid onto her hip, then around to her back, and then, in a daring movement, he let the hand drop to the small of her back, his fingertips just grazing the top of her rear. His thumb made small circles on the small of her back in time with their kissing. They each pulled at the other, bringing their bodies even closer. Margery's breasts were pressed flush to his chest and she let out a short sound of pleasure. Bucky couldn't help himself and responded to that small sound by deepening the kiss, leaning her head back and letting their tongues collide, giving a satisfied moan.

He couldn't say how long they stayed like that, wrapped in each other's embrace, clinging and trying to blur the distinction between their bodies. But, in the end, they broke apart and remembered that they were sitting on the edge of a roof. Bucky dropped back onto the solid roof and lifted her down after him. His hands lingered on her hips but made sure not to make another move to kiss her again, despite his nearly overwhelming desire to continue and see if it would lead them inside and onto a soft surface- preferably naked. He resisted the urge, just barely, and smiled at her. He looked young and handsome and carefree. Margery imagined that had she met him and kissed him in the 1940's, before he decided to go off to war, she would have seen this Bucky looking back at her.

"I trust you."

That was all he said as he led them back inside and to their separate rooms. And with that, they both knew that they would move forward with the next step in treatment, and then they would both be free. Free from the past and free for the future.


End file.
